


Do You Know My Son?

by bjfic_archivist



Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: Angst, Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-11-16
Updated: 2003-11-16
Packaged: 2018-12-26 20:49:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,750
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12066750
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bjfic_archivist/pseuds/bjfic_archivist
Summary: What if instead of Joan, Joan and Jennifer came to the loft in 209?





	Do You Know My Son?

**Author's Note:**

> Note from IrishCaelan, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Brian/Justin Fanfiction Archive](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Brian_Justin_Fanfiction_Archive). To preserve the archive, I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in September 2017. I posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [The Brian/Justin Fanfiction Archive collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/bjfic/profile).

I step from the elevator, barely able to balance the huge cake on one palm. I made it especially, Brian always loved it, and after the effort he’s made I think I owe him a favor in return. I can’t believe he came to church with me. Maybe there’s still hope for him. I sigh, and almost run into a solid body.

 

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” I exclaim, barely preventing the cake from dropping. 

 

“No, I’m sorry,” the woman says in a cultivated voice. Upper middle class, no doubt. It’s in her eyes, in her bearing. Instantly I feel defensive, and hate it. 

 

Then I realize she’s standing in front of Brian’s door. “Are you visiting my son?”

 

She blinks once, twice. “Your son?”

 

“Brian,” I explain, and nod at the door. “I’m Joan Kinney.”

 

“Oh,” she laughs slightly, and I wonder why? What has Brian told her? Then she seems to realize that I don’t know her name yet. “I’m Jennifer Taylor.”

 

Now it’s my turn to blink, and from the smile on her face I wonder if her name is supposed to tell me something. Only, it doesn’t. But I’d never admit it. “Nice to meet you. I’d shake hands with you, but…” I trail off and she laughs again. 

 

“I already knocked, but nobody seems to be at home,” she tells me, and again I wonder what a woman like her would want with my son. Then a thought enters my mind and my heart stops for a moment. Brian is a good looking man, after all. He and this woman … Oh dear God. I quickly say a Hail Mary and instantly feel better. 

 

“Do you know Brian well?” I ask finally, gathering my courage. 

 

Again she blinks, then tilts her head, clearly surprised at the question. Does she know my son so well that she assumes I should know about her? “I … uh … Not that well, no. But my son … knows him.”

 

“Your son?” Instantly I feel better and laugh, “Oh, they’re friends, I see.” Then I frown. The woman had to be at least ten or fifteen years younger than me. “How old is your son?”

 

“Eighteen. He’ll be nineteen soon.” 

 

Eighteen. No, this has to be wrong. What would Brian do with a teenager?

 

Suddenly the door opens and Brian is standing there. His face is slightly flushed and he wears nothing but a pair of sweatpants. “Mom,” he says with a little grimace, then turns his head. “Mrs. Tay … I mean Jennifer.”

 

“I’m sorry am I disturbing you?” I ask. “I was gonna leave this at the door with a note, but then I thought as long as I’m here…“

 

“Hello, Brian.” Mrs. Taylor greets my son. “Is Justin here?”

 

Brian rolls his tongue in his cheek, something he inherited from his grandfather, then takes a deep breath, and steps back. “Why don’t you two come in?”

 

“Brian,” I smile at him, wondering if he’s been working out. Claire told me once that he did that often. He even owns his own equipment, she said. His upper body is glistening with sweat and for a moment I see his father, young and good looking, and myself, young and so stupid. I close my eyes and force the smile back on my face. I hold the cake out to him, “This is your favorite. Chocolate, chocolate chip.” I put the cake on the counter and look around. It’s the first time I came here, and it looks just the way Claire told me. It’s huge and reeks of money.

 

Brian steps around me and comes to stand at the other side of the counter before he looks at me. Or rather, he’s looking at Mrs. Taylor. “Justin’s up there,” he tells her, nodding towards the stairs. “Justin!” he shouts. 

 

Justin? Oh yes, Jennifer’s son. The teenager. Why would he be with Brian ? The very same moment a young blond boy, also wearing a pair of sweatpants, appears. “Brian,” he calls out, “won’t you come back-“ He stops dead in his tracks when he sees us standing there. “Ah … mom.”

 

“Honey …,” For the first time Mrs. Taylor’s façade seems to falter. “Am I coming at a bad time?”

 

“I told you to call first,” he replies, giving her a sharp look, then turns his head at me, a question in his eyes, Brian answers immediately.

 

“Mom, this is Justin. Justin … this is my mom.” 

 

“Oh … hi.” The boy gives me a little wave and at that moment I suddenly understand what’s going on here. But it can’t be true … it’s simply not possible. I feel my hands start to tremble, and for a moment I wonder if I might faint in Brian’s home. But I won’t. If living with Jack Kinney for more than 30 years has taught me one thing, it’s always keeping up appearances. At any cost. Because worse than your husband treating you like trash, is having the neighbors looking at you with pity in their eyes. 

 

Brian must have seen those thoughts in my eyes, because he suddenly laughs harshly. “What’s your problem, *mom*, are you shocked?”

 

Shocked? I’m far beyond that. Shock might be something I’ll get over with time, but this. This is so much worse. “You’re … you’re …”

 

“Fucking guys?” he supplies helpfully. But there is anger in his eyes. And a challenge. A challenge I can read clearly. It says, what are you gonna do now, mom? You messed up your life, and now you’re stranded with a faggot for a son. 

 

I shrink back from his words and his anger, my heart hammering in my chest, wishing this was nothing but a bad dream, I’m going to wake up from any moment now. But it isn’t a dream. Brian is standing here, his … this … this boy … is standing there and his mother…

 

His mother!

 

My head snaps around, my eyes flashing at her. “And you’re accepting this … this abomination?”

 

She looks at me with compassion. “There is nothing else to do. It’s not a disease that will go away.”

 

“But … but his,” I gesture around. “I mean … Brian is … and Justin is … you said he was eighteen.”

 

“He is,” she says softly.

 

“Hey, I’m here in the room,” the blond suddenly joins the conversation. He is a beautiful boy, his skin very pale and flawless, his hair bright, his eyes blue. And it makes me sick. “Don’t talk about me as if I’m not here.”

 

“Justin-“ Brian starts, but the boy cuts him off.

 

“No. So,” he stares at me, “I’m eighteen. So what? I’m an adult.”

 

“You’re still very young,” I say. “You,” I look at his mother, “have to do something. He is still a boy. You can … help him. Stop this … horrible …” I shudder at the thought what my … son … is doing to this kid. 

 

“My son is gay, Mrs. Kinney.” Mrs. Taylor’s voice is very soft. “And Brian is too. All we can do is love them. It doesn’t change who they are.”

 

“But … but can’t you see this is a sin?” I cry, backing away from this madness. I have to leave this place. Quick. 

 

“Maybe,” the woman suggests, “we can meet. Share a cup of coffee and talk-“

 

“Talk?” I laugh, and I don’t care that it sounds hysterical. “Talk about what? That you permit your son to live against the law of God and the church? You should pray, Mrs. Taylor. Pray.” I’m at the door now and I release a breath of relief when I feel the cold metal at my back. Almost safe.

 

“She doesn’t need to pray, mom. You’re doing enough of it on your own. Why don’t you go back to your precious father Tom and let him hold your hand?”

 

My breath catches in my throat. Is this the son I nurtured in my womb? Is he the child that used to look up at me with admiration, with the expression a son has for his mother? Who is this man I don’t seem to know anymore? “We used to be s-so close,” I stammer, looking at him. “I came because I thought … but you destroyed everything.”

 

“Did I?” His right brow comes up. “What about you, *mom*?”

 

Mrs. Taylor clears her throat. “Maybe … I should just leave-“

 

“No,” Brian says, never taking his eyes from me. “Stay. This is Justin’s home now.”

 

His home? “Do you … is this boy living with you?” Is there no end to his sins? How is he ever going to end up in Heaven? 

 

“Yes, he is,” he says, a mocking smile playing around his lips. “Does it make you sick? To think that we’re fucking?”

 

A little sound of distress escapes Mrs. Taylor’s mouth, but she covers it up quickly, and forces a smile on her face. I want to admire her for it, but I can’t. “You will go to Hell.” I toss at Brian and step out of this place … of … of sodomy.

 

“And that’s what really matters, huh, Mom?” He’s followed me and while I pray the elevator may hurry, he stands in the door and looks at me. “That once you’re dead you’ll be standing in front of God and he’ll ask you about your queer son.”

 

“Don’t talk like that,” I beg. “Who are you? What happened to Brian?”

 

“He’s here,” he replies, his eyes dark and intense. “He’s become what you and Jack made of him.”

 

I shake my head in denial. “No. I didn’t make you do … this.”

 

“No, you didn’t,” he agrees. “I was always queer.”

 

“Thank God your father didn’t know,” I say, thinking in horror what he would’ve done. I would never have heard the end of it. He would’ve blamed me for it, that much is certain. 

 

He looks at me oddly for a moment, then simply says. “He did.”

 

I freeze. Jack – knew? “What?”

 

“I told him before he died.”

 

“He never-“ I bite my tongue. “What about Claire?”

 

Brian just shrugs at that. So Claire was in it, too. It doesn’t matter anymore. “I will pray for your soul,” I tell him, stepping into the elevator. I’m a good Christian. It’s my duty not to give up on him. The car starts to move and I breathe deeply. I need to see Claire, make sure that this disease doesn’t spread in our family. It’s time to talk to her children, pray with them. I may have lost Brian, but I will not lose my grand-children.


End file.
